FEAST OF ST. MARTHA

July 29, 2025 Feast of Sts. Martha, Mary and Lazarus John 11:19–27 In Scripture, Bethany is not just a location—it is a sacred symbol of love, hospitality, and deep faith. Its name means House of Charity, and true to that name, it became a home where Jesus was welcomed not just with affection but with believing hearts. In the face of her brother Lazarus’s death, Martha emerges as a woman of profound faith, declaring to Jesus, “Even now I know that whatever you ask of God, He will give you.” Her statement is powerful because it rises out of grief, not certainty, proving that faith is not the absence of pain but trust in the midst of it. Martha’s faith reminds us that God listens even in our most desperate moments. Her trust turned Bethany into a place where the impossible became possible. She didn’t demand a miracle, but she believed that even death was not beyond God’s power. And Jesus responded—not only by raising Lazarus but by revealing Himself as the Resurrection and the Life. This moment is not just about Lazarus—it’s about each of us learning to trust that God’s timing is never late and that His love is never powerless. Faith, even in its smallest expression, opens the door to miracles. Faith has a name, I called her Martha! Bethany teaches us that miracles begin in hearts that believe. If God answered Martha, He can and will answer us too. Our struggles, like Lazarus’s tomb, may seem closed and final, but God still speaks life into what seems lifeless. Let us bring our fears, our losses, our waiting prayers into this house of charity, trusting that God sees, hears, and responds in love. Faith makes the impossible possible—not because we are worthy, but because God is faithful. Blessings Fr. Jhack

MUSTARD SEED

July 28, 2025 Monday within the 17th in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 13:31–35 In this Gospel passage, Jesus presents two powerful images—the mustard seed and the yeast—to reveal something essential about the nature of the Kingdom of God. Both images speak of smallness, hiddenness, and transformation. In the mustard seed, we see the paradox of divine power: the smallest of seeds becomes a great tree. In the yeast, we encounter the quiet but total transformation of the dough. These are not just agricultural metaphors—they are theological truths about how God works. The Kingdom of God does not begin with spectacle or force. It begins with the seemingly insignificant—a whisper of hope, a hidden act of love, a seed of grace planted in the heart. This is a profound revelation about the nature of God’s reign: it is not imposed from above but grows from within. God’s way is not domination but transformation. The mustard seed reminds us of the power of small beginnings; the yeast reminds us that true change is internal and pervasive. Theologically, this reflects the kenosis of Christ—God emptying Himself to take the form of a servant (Phil 2:7). The Kingdom follows the same pattern: from humility comes glory. Moreover, Jesus’ use of parables fulfills what was spoken through the prophets—revealing truths hidden from the foundation of the world. This highlights another key theological point: revelation is progressive. God reveals the mystery of His Kingdom not in an instant, but in time, through experience, and often in parables that require openness and contemplation. The seed and the yeast are not just signs of growth; they are invitations to trust in the hidden work of grace. We may not always see the results, but if we remain faithful, we can be assured that God’s Kingdom is growing—within us, among us, and through us. Blessings Fr. Jhack

BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO LISTEN

July 24, 2025 Thursday within the 16th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 13:10–17 Today’s gospel brings us into the reality of how we perceive and process truth. When the disciples ask Jesus why He speaks in parables, He essentially says that people see and hear, but not all are truly receptive. This speaks to a deeper reality: our minds and hearts filter what we allow ourselves to believe. Just as past wounds, pride, or fear can cloud our relationships with others, they can also block our openness to God. Many hear the Word, but few allow it to penetrate beyond the surface. Personally, we tend to resist what threatens our comfort zones. The parables of Jesus, while seemingly simple stories, challenge assumptions, confront illusions, and invite transformation. But transformation requires self-awareness and surrender—both of which can be frightening. That’s why Jesus says, “They look but do not see and hear but do not listen or understand.” He’s not condemning them but describing a common human defense: the tendency to shut down when truth becomes too personal or too uncomfortable. This Gospel reminds us that spiritual understanding requires not just faith, but emotional honesty and inner freedom. To truly “see” and “hear” in the spiritual sense means allowing God to bypass our ego defenses and touch the deeper layers of the soul. It is a daily choice to stay open, to reflect, and to let grace heal what blocks our vision. In a noisy, anxious world, the quiet soul becomes the fertile ground where the Word can finally take root. Blessings Fr. Jhack

THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER

July 23, 2025 Wednesday within the 16th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 13:1–9 In the parable of the sower, Jesus draws our attention not merely to the soil, but to the astonishing resilience of the seed — the Word of God — that is scattered with hope, even in unlikely places. Though some of it falls on rocky paths, thorny ground, and shallow soil, the seed still carries within it the power to grow. This story reminds us that the Word of God is not fragile. It is dynamic, alive, and capable of surviving even in the hardest circumstances of our lives. Our hearts, like the varying soils, receive God’s Word differently — sometimes distracted by worry, sometimes hardened by pain, and sometimes shallow in faith. But even when life feels barren or overgrown with fear and stress, the seed is still working, still pushing to take root. We must never let the thorns of worry or the heat of trials make us believe we are barren. Growth often happens underground, in silence and struggle, where God is at work deep within us. Faithfulness is not about perfect soil, but about allowing the seed to remain and do its work. Ultimately, this parable is about hope — the hopeful persistence of God’s Word and the potential within us to bear fruit, even in difficulty. We grow when we stay, when we receive, and when we allow God to shape us through our challenges. Fruitfulness does not come from comfort, but from our willingness to be tilled, watered, and stretched by grace. So let us not focus too much on how broken we are, but on how generous the Sower is. Let the Word land, and let it live in you. Blessings Fr. Jhack

FEAST OF MARY MAGDALENE

July 22, 2025 Feast of Mary Magdalene Jn 20:1-2, 11-18 The story of Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb is one of the most intimate and personal encounters with the Risen Christ in all of Scripture. In today’s gospel, we find her weeping outside the tomb, grieving the loss of not only her Lord but also the meaning and hope she had found in Him. Her tears are not just about death—they are tears of confusion, loss, and love. She remained, even when others went away. And it was in her staying, her longing, and her faithful love that Jesus met her. What is most beautiful is that the Risen Lord chose to reveal Himself first to someone the world might have dismissed. Mary Magdalene was not a high priest, not a scholar, not a public leader—but a woman once healed, now fully devoted. This tells us that Jesus is not bound by status or power, but moves toward the heart that stays, searches, and loves. When He calls her by name—“Mary”—her eyes are opened. The Risen Christ meets us personally, in the language of love and recognition. He does not scold her tears but honors them by showing her the truth. In moments when we are overwhelmed by sorrow, confusion, or silence, Mary Magdalene reminds us to stay by the tomb a little longer. Resurrection often comes to those who choose not to run away from the pain. Her story assures us that Jesus comes not only in glory but in the garden of our grief. And when He calls us by name, our despair turns into mission—as it did for Mary, the first witness of the Resurrection. From her tears came a testimony. From her mourning came a message: “I have seen the Lord.” Blessings Fr. Jhack

THE SIGN OF JONAH

July 21, 2025 Monday within the 16th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 12:38-42 There were moments in my life — and even in my priesthood — when I begged God for a sign. A whisper of assurance, a miracle to ease the ache, or a light to make sense of the dark. Like the Pharisees in today’s Gospel, I wanted something visible, something loud, something immediate. But heaven seemed silent. And in that silence, I felt abandoned, unseen, maybe even unloved. But that’s when this Gospel struck me deeply: “No sign will be given… except the sign of Jonah.” The sign I was looking for was not in the sky, but on the Cross — and in the empty tomb. The sign of Jonah is not flashy; it is buried in pain. It is found in the three long days when it seemed all hope was lost — when even Jesus was wrapped in death. And yet, it is the greatest sign of all: that love goes to the deepest places, and still rises. That God does not always answer with thunder, but with resurrection. And I realize now, the times when I thought God was most absent were the very moments He was drawing me into His mystery. Not to impress me, but to transform me. Faith is not built on signs; it is born from surrender. Like the people of Nineveh who heard a prophet and changed their lives, I am learning — still learning — to listen with my heart instead of my eyes. When God seems silent, I look to the Cross and I see the loudest message of love ever spoken. And in the echo of the empty tomb, I find this truth: The greatest sign was never in the sky, but in the Savior who died and rose again — for me. Blessings Fr. Jhack

THE BETTER PART

July 20, 2025 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C Luke 10:38-42 There are days in ministry when I feel like Martha—pulled in many directions, doing what I believe is necessary and good, yet deep inside, there’s a quiet ache for something more. This Gospel reminds me that even in service to God, I can get lost in the work and forget the One I’m working for. Jesus does not scold Martha for serving; He lovingly invites her to something deeper—to choose the better part, as Mary did: to pause, to listen, to simply be with Him. I’ve learned the hard way that when prayer is compromised, everything else slowly begins to unravel. Without moments of silence, my words become shallow; without time at His feet, even sacred responsibilities feel heavy. Ministry without prayer becomes performance. But when I make time to sit with Jesus, even briefly, I rediscover the peace and purpose behind the calling. In the chaos of life, listening to Jesus is not a luxury—it’s a lifeline. We live in a Martha’s world—rushed, noisy, always demanding more. But I pray to live with Mary’s heart: a heart that treasures presence over productivity, intimacy over activity. The “better part” is not found in doing more, but in being with the Lord more. In every homily, every visit, every decision, I want to carry not just a mission—but the stillness of someone who has sat with the Master. That’s the only way I can keep going. That’s the only way I can truly serve. NB: The better part is listening before serving. Kneeling matters more than moving. Friend, do not lose the One you’re serving. Blessings Fr. Jhack

HOPE FOR THE WOUNDED SOUL

July 19, 2025 Saturday within the 15th werk in Ordinary Time: Year C Matthew 12:14–21 This passage always strikes me deeply. While the Pharisees were plotting to destroy Jesus, He quietly withdrew. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t raise His voice. He simply walked away—and continued healing people. That moment teaches me that not every battle needs to be fought with noise or force. Sometimes, like Jesus, we are called to be faithful in silence. We keep doing good, even when misunderstood or opposed. That takes a kind of strength that doesn’t shout—it endures. I’m moved by the words: “He will not break a bruised reed or quench a smoldering wick.” How many times in my own life have I felt like a bruised reed, bent by exhaustion, doubt, or disappointment? And yet, the Lord never broke me. He never gave up on me. He gently lifted me, quietly healed me, and gave me strength to go on. God’s justice is not harsh—it’s tender. It doesn’t crush the broken; it restores them. That is the kind of justice the world needs. That is the heart of Jesus. Reading this Gospel reminds me of the kind of priest I want to be—and the kind of Christian we’re all called to be. I want to serve not by overpowering others, but by quietly lifting them up. I want to protect the weak, not judge them. I want to be a reflection of Christ’s gentle strength. In a world that often rewards noise and power, Jesus shows us another way: the way of mercy, of peace, and of quiet, faithful love. Blessings Fr. Jhack

BLESSED ARE THE FAITHFUL

There were many times in my journey as a priest when I was tempted to walk away—not from my vocation entirely, but from certain people, duties, or even moments of deep inner struggle. There were days when I showed up to pray, but my heart was dry. Days when I smiled at others, while secretly wrestling with exhaustion or doubt. And yet, I stayed. Not because I was strong, but because I believed faithfulness matters to God. God never asked me to be perfect. He never demanded that I always feel inspired, joyful, or on fire. What He asks is that I remain. That I return to Him, again and again, with all that I am—weakness and all. I have learned that faithfulness to God is not about how I feel, but about who I believe He is: a faithful Father who never gives up on His children. So I hold on. I stay close. I keep showing up in prayer, in the sacraments, in service—because I know He is always there. Faithfulness has also taught me something deeper about love. In relationships—with family, friends, parishioners—it’s not the grand gestures that matter most. It’s the daily presence, the quiet sacrifices, the choice to listen even when tired, to forgive even when hurt. And in my responsibilities as a priest, faithfulness means being present even when I feel invisible, preaching with fire even when I feel empty, and celebrating Mass with reverence even when my heart is heavy. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about being extraordinary—it’s about being faithful. And that’s the kind of priest I pray to be—not perfect, not always strong, but faithful. Because faithfulness, even when unnoticed by the world, is always seen by God. And that is enough. Blessings Fr. Jhack

REST

In a world that glorifies pleasure, speed, and self-satisfaction, many souls find themselves endlessly chasing after the next thrill, the next purchase, the next escape. This lifestyle of constant indulgence is known as hedonism—the belief that pleasure is the highest good and ultimate purpose of life. While the world presents this path as a form of freedom and happiness, the Gospel of Christ reveals something far deeper: true healing, peace, and joy are not found in pleasures, but in the person of Jesus. Hedonism is appealing because it offers instant gratification. Shopping, drinking, partying, traveling, or immersing oneself in worldly distractions can numb the pain for a while. But the soul is not satisfied by surface pleasures—it longs for something eternal, meaningful, and holy. Only Christ can touch the deepest wounds of the human heart. In today’s gospel Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” His invitation is not just to the religious or the righteous, but to the tired, broken, and lost. While hedonism masks the pain, Christ heals it from within. The problem with hedonism is that it offers pleasure without purpose, comfort without communion, escape without encounter. It treats the symptoms but not the root. In contrast, Jesus does not avoid our wounds—He enters them. His healing is not about escaping reality but transforming it with grace. His peace is not momentary relief but eternal rest. The Cross shows us that real joy often comes through sacrifice, not indulgence. And the Resurrection proves that love, not pleasure, is the true path to life. When we turn away from empty pleasures and turn toward the heart of Christ, we discover that we were made for more than this world—we were made for Him. So if your heart is tired, anxious, or restless, don’t run to distractions—run to Jesus. Malls, casinos, entertainment, and escapes may momentarily numb the ache, but they can never restore your soul. Only Jesus can do that. In His presence, we don’t just feel better—we become whole. The heart was not created for pleasure, but for love. And the only love that can truly satisfy is the love that flows from the Sacred Heart of Christ. Blessings Fr. Jhack

LITTLE ONES

July 16, 2025 Wednesday within the 16th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 11:25–27 In today’s gospel, Jesus lifts His eyes to the Father and offers a prayer of praise—not for power or miracles, but for revelation given to the little ones. He thanks the Father for hiding divine truths from the wise and learned, and revealing them instead to the humble, the childlike, the open-hearted. This Gospel challenges our notions of greatness. God’s ways are not discovered through intellect alone, but through simplicity, humility, and trust. It is not how much we know, but how open we are to receiving God’s truth. There was a time I thought I needed to have everything figured out—to read more theology, to speak more eloquently, to master the mysteries. But along the way, I met simple people—farmers, lola rosary leaders, children receiving their First Communion—whose quiet, sincere faith moved me far more than any book. They knew little in the academic sense, yet somehow, they knew God more deeply than I did. Through them, God whispered to my soul: “Fr. Jhack, come to me as a child, not as a scholar.” Theological knowledge may explain doctrine, but it is encounter with Jesus that opens the heart to divine love. As a priest, I am reminded that the heart of ministry is not just teaching doctrines, but leading people to Jesus, so they may know the Father. In a world obsessed with success, credentials, and recognition, this Gospel calls us back to spiritual childhood—to be small before God, teachable in His presence, and grateful for every grace revealed to the humble. May we never become so “learned” in ministry that we forget how to be little in prayer. Blessings Fr. Jhack